


part humor, part thorns, part roses

by merwinist



Series: Until The Last [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aristocracy, Cute Draco Malfoy, DON'T SAY I DIDN'T FUCKING WARN YOU, F/M, Fix-It, Goblin Culture, Goblin horde - Freeform, Goblins, House Elves, House of Black, Imperator Furiosa - Freeform, Lucius Dies, Mentions of Rape, Nobility, Peter dies, Protective Slytherins, Rough Draft, Slytherins Being Slytherins, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, The Peerage, Trials, Wizengamot, Young Draco Malfoy, actually a lot of wiki pages were used, aka my big fat queer crush, contents subject to change, do i wanna be her or date her, especially because of, goblin imperator, goblin king - freeform, hence the imperator instead of goblin king, high society - Freeform, i also liked imperator because it feels gender neutral, i enjoy narcissa ruining other people's days, i'm glad, i'm writing this on a wiki and a prayer, imma fix everyfuckinthing, implied marital abuse, implied rape, just lightly ruffled, made up nobility titles, mentions of marital rape, narcissa enjoys ruining people's days, no wiki pages were harmed in the making of this fic, peer of the realm, same difference, semi-graphic child abuse, the goblins are also structured like romans, the goblins are non gendered beings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 08:13:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18311690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merwinist/pseuds/merwinist
Summary: What would happen if Andromeda reached out, and Narcissa grasped her hand?It's time for the magical world to remember why the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black has survived for so long:Because they fight until the last.





	1. rescue me in the middle

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very rough draft that I sprinted through the end of on the 31st because I want to start on the next story, a 30k~50k Camp Nano project. Do not ask me when the sequel will be posted or if it'll be soon. It'll be when it's done. I publish all at once so I can edit plotholes before publishing.
> 
> I'll come back and edit this at some point because it's a rough draft and I wanted to get initial feedback on it. Expect to see sections change and more information to be added. I'll unlock it and allow anonymous commenting after it's polished, but comments will stay moderated.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andromeda reaches out.
> 
> Draco learns a secret.
> 
> Narcissa finds her hope.

The day was beautiful, her Solarium full of refracting sunbeams and warm air. The birds flitted about on the other side of her window, and Narcissa wondered what it would be like to be free like that. To have no family duties or expectations thrust upon you. It had been quite a while since she allowed herself to indulge in what-ifs, but Lucius’ mood had been especially volatile the night before, and she felt weary to her bones. Lifting her face to absorb more sunshine in hope of being re-energized, Narcissa’s mouth fell open in a dainty little ‘o’ of shock; had her thoughts of family and freedom summoned this letter? Or perhaps the Black covenant had stirred within her — she hadn’t been permitted to continue her worship after her marriage, and her awareness of the currents of her own core had suffered for it.

In a flash, she was out of her seat and moving purposefully towards the fifth floor and the owlery. Narcissa was well-bred enough to avoid running through the halls, but if her hands shook as she gathered up her skirts to climb the stairs, and if her feet moved quicker than was necessarily seemly, well it was no one’s business but her own. She reasoned with herself that she didn’t know if Lucius had seen the bird, and if so she would need to get to it first and concoct a cover story. Perhaps… yes, that should work. She was known for spending hours primping and maintaining her looks — after all, he wanted his trophy to stay shiny; if he assumed it was a new cream or charm instructions he’d dismiss it out of hand. Of course, she didn’t even know if he was home.

Draco, on the other hand, was a mischievous, curious little boy. He’d been playing behind several large plants in the Solarium and had noticed his mother’s precipitous exit. She usually spent her whole morning in the Solarium, taking tea and completing correspondence; he followed her in hopes of learning something that would result in his silence being bought with a new toy or candy. There was nothing better than knowing a secret  _and_  getting a treat for keeping it such! When he realized they were heading to the owlery, Draco became even more intrigued: his mother rarely fetched the mail herself, preferring to have an elf pop it down on demand, so for her to make a five flight climb… Oh, this was  _definitely_  going to be secret Draco would enjoy having.

Unfortunately, Draco was not yet as good at subterfuge as he one day hoped to be, and the sound of his shoe scuffing on a stair was a deafening death bell in his ears. What he lacked in subterfuge and grace, he made up for in luck. Narcissa’s preoccupation served him well, for she ripped open the parchment envelope at the exact same time as his shoe had thunked against the cobblestone, granting him cover. He crouched down and hugged the wall, staring up at his mother’s face to gauge her emotions as best as he could at seven and one half. She had one hand over her mouth, and he drew in a surprised breath as her knees seemed to weaken, causing her to sag against the filth-covered sill of the open tower. He had never seen his mother lose that much control, ever. She hadn’t even vanished the bird mess, and usually she was fastidious even when caught up in big feelings.

The parchment popped as she gripped it tight enough to make it change shape, and Draco’s eyes widened as a breeze caught something from the envelope, wafting it through the door, directly towards him. She noticed  _that_ , and him, but she wasn’t quick enough to keep him from picking up what turned out to be a photo. “Draco, don’t —” Her aborted admonition cut off at the same time he registered who it was a photo of. Riotous Black curls, big grey eyes, and high cheekbones meant a Black, and the only two Black women were his mother and…

“Is this Aunt Bellatrix? I thought she was in prison. And crazy. It’s not safe for you to be talking to her, Mother!” His first concern would always be his mother’s safety, and it made her face soften into a smile that he returned hesitantly. But, as he looked at the photo again, his expression turned confused again. He knew what the Lestrange family traits were — dark eyes and hair, heavy brows, weak chins. He also knew that… that Bellatrix didn’t have children — definitely not a teenage Metamorphmagus. He’d have heard nothing from his father but furious, impotent rage about how a mutt had managed such a gift but he, Draco Malfoy, was disappointingly  _average_.

He looked back up at her with questions written in the ridge of his forehead, and in that moment Narcissa had to make a decision. Could she trust him with the contents of the letter? And more to the point, could she trust him to keep his knowledge from Lucius? She wanted to think she could, but was that her motherhood speaking? No. Her boy loved her, and put her safety above his own sometimes. He was rather foolish with his own body, tossing it about on brooms and tumbling through the grass, but he was always gentle and solicitous around her. He was a good boy.

“Come, Draco.” Making her decision, she cupped one hand of slender fingers around his shoulder and gathered him into her skirts, the other hand petting his hair lovingly. “Mummy has something to tell you, but not here.” She took his hand in hers and drew him back down to the Solarium, where she could cast a small-area privacy charm and a proximity warning on the door.

~~~~~

Once they were settled back in the Solarium without having run into Lucius, Narcissa allowed herself to relax marginally. Pinning her impatient son with a quelling stare, she called for her own elf. Jacques was bound to her as part of the dowry from Black house. As such, he  _had_  to keep her secrets and ensure her safety. “Jacques, I must handle is very important Black family business.” She gestured with the envelope. “I will require a tea setting so as to keep on routine, but I want none of the Malfoy elves in here for the next two hours.” Lucius had been operating under the assumption that he’d succeeded in his efforts to potion her via the Malfoy elves’ food. It suited her to let him think so, but she was not a doll to be posed at his whim. Nor could she risk giving up the game at this crucial moment.

Draco chimed in, “I’d love some lemon cakes — ooh, and salmon sandwiches!” He beamed under the approving smile she couldn’t contain. He was very good at playing his part; she was confident that telling him the truth was the best path.

Jacques bowed, popped to the kitchen, and was back in less than ten minutes. During that time, Draco and Narcissa had played a casual game of Exploding Snap on the floor. After they were both settled around the small table and the snack, she gave explicit orders.

“You are to make sure no other elf can access this room for the next two hours. It would be best if you could also divert the Lord Malfoy, but if not I will need you to alert me as soon as you can of his imminent arrival. This meeting is a secret of the House of Black and you are to allow no one to force you to divulge its existence.” These were not unusual orders for Jacques, so he bowed and left to set the protocol in motion.

Narcissa pulled out her wand, sweeping it in an arc over the both of them. A thin magical bubble shimmered into existence around them, keeping sound from escaping even through the floor. Sometimes she engaged Jacques for this when she needed to cry. Sometimes to scream. Always to lower the docile mask. But she could think about that later. For now, she had more pressing concerns. Confident in her casting, she handed Draco the letter silently.

The Narcissa who currently sat before her young son was not the gentle but dramatic, half-absent persona he was so used to. No, this was a woman with steel in her spine and fire in her belly. He was young and didn’t know much, but he knew his mother was infinitely smarter than his father thought. In that moment he resolved to stop giving a toss what his father thought. If Lucius could be so placated by his own assumptions and willfully miss how magnificent his wife was and what an asset she could have been, the man clearly couldn’t be relied upon to give good advice.

He looked at the signature page of the letter first, impatient to know who Bellatrix’ doppelganger really was. “Andromeda… Tonks? She’s got a star name but I don’t recognize the last name and Blacks haven’t married out in… a while.” Privately, he thought it had been too long since some branches had married anything but cousins. He flipped back to the front page of the letter and began to read in earnest.

  
_“Dearest Cissy,_  
_You know ears are always flapping,_  
_and the vine is strong. I know_  
_cloud nine may seem out of reach,_  
_but if you look to the past, a new_  
_star might guide your path._

_Eternally in bloom with you,_  
_Andromeda Tonks_

_P.S. Old goats may struggle to_  
_see through tall weeds.”_

Narcissa said nothing, waiting to see where Draco’s starting point would be. Draco read it several times before clearing his throat. “I don’t understand why she signed it if it’s meant to be written in code. Also, it isn’t a very good code. Anyone with something more than fuzz between there ears could tell she thinks you’re unhappy, and she’s offering you a solution.” He didn’t admit to the fact that he didn’t have enough context to parse what the solution was, but it was implied.

“Have a sandwich, darling.” She poured them both a cup of steaming tea, stirring two sugars into both and quite a bit of milk into his. After chewing and swallowing her own delicate nibble from the corner of a lemon tart, she met his expectant gaze with an arched eyebrow. “First of all, I would have thought you’d know by now that things are not as simple as they seem. Your tutoring has been lacking if you can’t at least feel the enchantment on the parchment. But nevermind that. The simple answer is that my sister bespelled a letter to only be legible to those with Black blood. The further your connection from our cadet branch, the less it will make sense. As you are my son, you saw the simplified version of a longer, clearer letter. Someone with no Black blood would see a business missive.”

He said nothing, just ate another sandwich while he waited for her to go on. He could tell she was enjoying drawing it out a bit.

“Bellatrix is not my only sister. Andromeda was older than us both. She was the perfect pureblood daughter until the moment she eloped with a Muggleborn wizard named Edward Tonks. I believe he goes by Ted. Anyway, she was blasted from the family tree and we were ordered not to speak about her or allow her to contact us.” Narcissa sighed, bringing the photograph close for inspection. “She never reached out, and neither did I. I suppose I sort of… Packed the idea of her away in a box, where I wouldn’t trip over the hope, living my current life.” A kind smile tipped the corners of her mouth up as she reached out to pat his hand. “Not you, darling. You are my one consolation in all this unfortunate mess.” It was the most she had ever admitted to him about the relationship she had with his father.

“So why is she writing now, of all times?” Cocking his head to the side made his mother chuckle fondly.

“Because, my little love, her daughter could benefit socially from the return of the Black name and backing. The girl is fifteen or sixteen now, I believe, and she might be looking for apprenticeship opportunities that the Black name could help her secure.” Andromeda had been in Slytherin and while that was probably not her only concern, it would rank high on the list.

“So what does the letter  _really_  say?” he asked shrewdly.

Narcissa pursed her lips, still struggling with her instinct of caution, and to not say more to him than he could handle. He was, after all, still a young wizard, and she couldn’t tell him everything. Better he have plausible deniability. Choosing her words carefully, she smiled and said, “The Black family Paterfamilias was sent to Azkaban without a trial, clever dragon. Your aunt has broken our estrangement to ask me to help secure his freedom.” The plan as Andromeda had proposed it was… Quite a neat way to solve one of Narcissa’s most pressing issues.

She also felt quite a bit of guilt for allowing her cousin to linger in false confinement, but she had been extremely restricted by Lucius since their marriage, and she hadn’t been as close with Sirius - before everything fell apart - as Andromeda had. She hadn’t even been allowed The Prophet since the Dark Lord had fallen. All of her knowledge was controlled by Lucius — or so he thought. Her elf was quite good at keeping her updated, but he’d only been able to tell her what the papers reported. The knowledge that Sirius hadn’t had a trial was new. It changed everything, especially now that Draco was seven and had gone through his Settling. His magic had finally stopped responding to his every whim, which had meant it was less work for the house elves, and her, to keep him out of trouble.

“And what about the goat? What does that mean?” Draco took another bite of sandwich, allowing her time to “stop her woolgathering,” as his father would have said. She often seemed lost in thought; Draco wondered why she only seemed fully present around him, but he had also just accepted it as the way of things. Maybe his magic, or their mother-son bond at the very least, made it easier for her to stay focused! That was a nice thought, and it made him smile.

“You know how your father plays his political games, trying to maneuver the other Peers in the Wizengamot how he likes them?” Draco nodded, but had the good manners not to speak with his mouth full. “Well, he’s not the only one who plays those games, and he’s not even the best player. It took a lot of power to throw a Lord in Azkaban without a trial. Andromeda was merely warning me that I would have to be as subtle as a snake in the grass to move around him.” The imagery made a small smirk grace her lips. “Luckily, between the two of us we’re quite clever, and often underestimated.”

Draco mulled all of this over as he sipped at his tea. “So, the sister you haven’t spoken to in years and weren’t allowed to mention wants your help for her daughter… But what’s the benefit to you?” His father had taught him early that trading favors was the way life worked. At first Lucius had bargained to get Draco to pay attention in lessons, and young Draco had only asked for his favorite dessert with dinner. As he got older, it became more sophisticated — a game to see where Draco could push the line to. Of course, as a new player in the game, sometimes he had pushed the line too far… He’d never told his mum, though. It would hurt her too much. Or worse, she might try to interfere and get herself hurt more! He’d seen bruises on her arms, and sometimes her screaming echoed far enough for him to hear it in the library when he couldn’t sleep. She didn’t know that, either. He was a secret collector, after all, and not just other people’s secrets needed to be held close to the vest.

Narcissa hesitated on how to answer that question without telling him anything incriminating. Luckily, she leapt upon the perfect cover — and it was even true. Slipping onto her knees in front of Draco, she held his hands very close. Looking up into his eyes, she said, “It very important that you keep this to yourself, my dragon.” His eager nod made a strand of beautiful white hair slip in front of his face, and she gently tucked it back behind his ear. “I love you very much, and I want a better life for us both.” She rarely allowed Lucius to be alone with Draco, but there were times that the best she could do was send Jacques to watch over him, but interference would likely get them both killed. As a result, she knew Lucius’ temper didn’t confine itself to her. “More importantly, I want a better life for your little sibling.” Draco’s eyes dropped to her stomach and went wide. “Having the Black Paterfamilias free will allow him to adopt you into his magical house, and at that point I’m going to ask him to revoke the permission for my marriage. You understand, sweet?”

It might have been archaic that the male members of her parental house could still lay claim to her after she was married, or at all really, but it could and should only be used in cases like hers, where abuse and fear ruled daily life. She wouldn’t have turned to the idea of Revokement lightly — and she wouldn’t have contemplated it at all if she hadn’t been almost positive the child she carried was a girl, he thought. Draco was protected by his status as Lucius’ Heir, but a little girl wouldn’t be. His father could refuse to share his family legacy with a girl child at all — and he knew she would never allow that to happen. He’d heard about the second Zabini child vanishing; according to the rumor mill at his dance lessons, the only reason Blaise hadn’t also gone that way is because Madam Zabini’s magic had been turbulent the whole time and she had to go to St. Mungo’s for delivery, rather than staying in confinement at home like most witches of a certain status. Mister Zabini had reportedly grown ill shortly after Madam Zabini had been able to get out of bed, but nobody in the class had been fool enough to imply anything untoward. Blaise had a nasty temper and a chip on her shoulder — she’d been excited for a sibling.

“Darling,” she grew concerned with Draco’s silence, “you aren’t upset, are you?” If he was, she didn’t how what she’d do. He might tell his father — she would have to Obliviate her own child, and that was not something she wanted to have to do.

“No, Mother!” he reassured her quickly. “I was just… I was thinking about Blaise’s mum.”

He fell silent and she kissed his forehead, pulling him down into a fierce hug. She’d heard about Astrid’s woes. “I won’t let that happen, you understand me? You don’t have to worry about that.” She hated that their world could be so ugly, and that their children had to witness such terrible things. She wanted to protect him forever. Keep his innocence unblemished as long as possible. She’d kill Lucius before she’d allow him to hurt her children any more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not send me nasty comments. Do not presume to tell me how to write my story.
> 
> If you've ever read a fic over at Keira Marcos' site, you know how to play by her comment rules.
> 
> Your nonconsensual beta is unwanted, unneeded, and detested.


	2. relentless when I seek my vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius makes his last mistake.
> 
> Narcissa loses her last bit of patience.
> 
> Andromeda is a smartass.

Draco had been ordered to put his conversation with his mother out of his mind, but he hadn’t been successful. The idea of not feeling his father’s malevolence linger in every room he went in had appeal. He’d found a good cubby in the library but it still wasn’t as secure as not having to be around Lucius at all. And at the same time, he still loved his father and wanted to know what he knew and be a man he’d be proud of. He just… He just wanted his mum to be proud of him more, he eventually decided. He wanted to be a man who protected the vulnerable, not preyed on them. So, he’d take lessons from his father on how to manipulate power currents, but he refused to treat people as disposable.

As it stood, Draco and Lucius were strolling along the Hall of Portraits; Lucius enjoyed lecturing Draco about family duties while also boring him silly with old people wanting to coo over what a Malfoy he was sure to grow up to be. Casting his gaze around the part of the hall he could see from their current portrait, he saw a curiously blank space. “Father, where’s the portrait that goes _there_?” He pointed.

Lucius turned around, his lip curling in a sneer. “That, I have learned, was a Mudblood masquerading as a Malfoy wife. As if we would sully our magic that way, even in long-ago France.”

Draco thought of Andromeda, of how his mother had said she’d been blasted off the tapestry. It reminded him of that, and a devious impulse took hold of him. “What’s wrong with marrying a Muggleborn?” It seemed like an innocent enough question that would also wind Lucius up a bit — but Draco had underestimated his father’s vehemence on the subject.

“Where did you hear that word?” Quick as a snake, his hand lashed out, catching Draco around the mouth and making him fall to his knees.

“J-just dance class,” the shaken child answered quietly, looking at the ground and trying not to cry.

“ _Mudbloods_ ,” Lucius hissed correctively, “are a disgrace to the magic we have spent years cultivating. They are vile, dirt-grubbing Muggle spawn trying to take over family legacies and destroy our traditions. And if I ever find out you’ve even _spoken_ to one you’ll look fondly on this _lesson_.”

Draco had kept his gaze on the floor, regretting his cheek already. As such, he didn’t know Lucius had pulled his wand until he was dangling from his ankle, at least six feet off the ground. He tried not to flail, but being vulnerable and in the dark due to his robes wrapping around his head made him panic and he swung his arms around ineffectively. Lucius let out a scoffing noise and then dropped him suddenly. He put his hands out in front of him and felt an indescribable pain jolt up his arms. He couldn’t keep himself from crying out in shock once, then again as Lucius kicked him in the chest. He struggled to catch his breath while his father let off one more parting shot. “Mudbloods are beneath you, but don’t forget your place either, boy.” Lucius walked away without looking back. “You’d better hope I never find out you touched a Mudblood, or this will seem like a vacation.”

Draco whimpered as he tried to stand, clutching his right arm to his chest even though his left arm also felt funny. He was really light-headed, too dizzy to keep from stumbling into the wall and jostling his injuries. He cried out again and slid down until his legs splayed across the floor, furious at himself. He wouldn’t be able to hide this from his mother. Not like a bloody lip or bruise. “Jacques, I need you.”

~~~~~

As it was later that same afternoon, Narcissa was taking a stroll of the gardens and still contemplating her reply to Andromeda. She didn’t want it in writing anywhere that she was going to poison her husband and frame someone else for it, obviously, so she had to think of a way to communicate with her sister in person. She had information that would see their Paterfamilias freed that Andromeda didn’t know, but would need to in order for the plan to work.

The plan to see her free of her monster of a husband was much more complicated than she’d revealed to Draco, of course. Step one was getting Pettigrew’s attention. She knew, thanks to Lucius, that he was alive and where Peter Pettigrew was hiding. It would seem suspicious if she visited Molly Weasley, due to the Malfoy blood feud. However, Andromeda’s daughter was the same age as one of their sons, so it wouldn’t be difficult for her to get an invitation, nor would it be out of the norm. Then she could lay the crumbs —

“Mistress comes with Jacques now.” Narcissa was jerked out of her plotting by the abrupt appearance of the elf. Before she could respond, she found herself standing in the Hall of Portraits. She could hear her son sniffling quietly and ice ran down her spine. Her skirts flared around her as she spun, looking for her precious boy; she pulled out her wand as she ran to him, a diagnostic spell already on her lips. “My dragon,” she crooned, trying to comfort him and herself.

The ice in her spine sent its tendrils to squeeze her heart. His right arm was broken in two places, several fingers were hyper-extended, and his left elbow was sprained. She couldn’t feel her face as rage took over her whole body, but she wouldn’t avenge her son until he was properly cared for. Picking Draco up, she ordered, “Jacques, bring us to my suite. I have potions there to heal him.” The elf obeyed immediately.

Draco did his best to appear brave in front of his mother, but being settled onto her bed made him whine behind clenched teeth. She shushed him reflexively and stroked his forehead softly. “ _Accio_ pain potion. _Accio_ Skelegrow.” She kept both stocked for herself, but she’d never thought she’d be using them on her darling boy. She popped the corks off both vials, holding the pain potion up to his lips first. “I’m going to have to vanish the bones in your arms, then brace you with a charm that will also heal your muscles and such.”

He nodded bravely, biting his lip. “Do it, mum. I’m sorry… I’m sorry I provoked him.”

She said nothing until he was fully healed and drifting to sleep from a second pain potion. “You have nothing to apologize for, my dearest love. Your father, however, will answer to me.” He watched through blurry eyes as his mum seemed to collect herself and become the scary warrior witch he liked best. She did the most interesting things. It really was too bad he was so tired and wouldn’t… get… to see…

Narcissa watched until she was certain Draco was asleep, then she went to her desk and wrote a note.

_The pixie is among the bowtruckles._  
_Await my elf’s return._

She handed it to Jacques, who had been on standby to help with Draco. “You are to take this to Andromeda, and then you are to go to the Weasley house and find their son’s rat. Do not let yourself be seen by anyone in the family; I want them to think their pet ran off. Bring the rat to me once you have him.” The elf bowed silently and vanished to fulfill his orders. They wouldn’t have time to lure Peter here, so it would have to be through the subtle application of blunt force. It was quite lucky that the average magical family didn’t have anti-elf wards. Turning around to cast one more motherly glance over her son’s sleeping form, Narcissa allowed herself one moment of grief for the dissolution of a marriage she’d once thought would turn into a love match. Then she hardened herself, for her son’s sake.

She knew where he’d be — he always went to his study to revel in his own cruelty with a glass of firewhiskey. Even in the middle of the afternoon, the room was darkened thanks to the heavy drapes over the windows. It was much easier to catch Lucius unawares when he was feeling smug about having taught _her_ son a ‘lesson’. He responded positively to feeling her hands slide over his chest as she came up behind his chair. He must think his potions would keep her from caring what he’d done to her son. He was a fool. He didn’t feel the danger in the air until she’d drawn her wand and bound him where he sat from neck to wrist. His tumbler of whiskey tinkled as it hit the floor. She hissed in displeasure as the liquid splashed against her robes, but a cleaning charm took care of it relatively quickly.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” her soon to be dearly departed husband demanded. “You dumb bitch, I’m going to make you regret this!”

“I highly doubt that,” she answered in a bored tone, summoning his cane and pulling the wand out of it. “You will, however, finally be of some use to me tonight, Lucius.” Faster than the eye could track, she backhanded him once, twice, thrice. The cracking sound of harsh slaps echoed up to the ceiling, but were muffled by the drapes. “And you will never lay a hand on my son again.”

He glared at her, incredulous and humiliated but also furious. She let her return glare convey every bit of loathing she felt every time she looked at him. There were so many things she could say, or do; she wanted to hurt him so bad. But she needed to keep her composure, to ensure this night would end in her favor. To that end, she silenced him before he could recover his ego and goad her more. “You’re going to die tonight, Lucius. And no one will mourn you, not even your son. I’m surprised you didn’t feel his trust breaking in the Malfoy magic. Not that it matters, since once you’re dead he’ll gain all of that magic — and he won’t be afraid to share it with his mother or his sister.” She didn’t seem to be able to stop herself. She wanted to take every last bit of hope away. She wanted to rip his dreams apart they same way he’d shredded hers. “I’m going to be the Regent for the Earldom of Wiltshire and I’m going to raise our son to stand against _everything_ you believe in. I want you to know that. You will die without any legacy; in fact I imagine more people than me will be quite relieved.”

She didn’t look at him. She didn’t need or want to. Instead she turned her back on him to stare into the fire, twirling his wand between her fingers. “I could burn your wand.” She heard the chair thump and turned around to see him straining forward at that comment. She laughed, her head thrown back and the fire warmed the ice in her throat and chest. “I still might, by the end of tonight, but no. This is actually a key part of my plan.” She began to prowl around him, stopping just out of his sight. Lucius couldn’t help himself, he had to struggled against the rope, but it had no effect. She chuckled darkly in his ear and barely refrained from digging her nails into his chest. She could rip his heart out, she was so furious. But that would complicate things.

Luckily, at that moment Jacques returned with the rat squeaking in a cage — and her sister. Narcissa straightened, a lump growing in her throat and some emotion she couldn’t name writing itself across her face. Andromeda had aged so well.

“Andy,” she finally said after a long pause, her voice breaking. “I missed you so much.”

She held her arms open, and Narcissa ran to her like a much younger child. “Shhh, Cissy,” Andromeda comforted her as she buried her face in her sister’s robes and tried to cry quietly. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you with them. You were always the most sensitive of us.” They both ignored the captives in the room; their fate was already written and it didn’t matter what they saw or heard. “I had a dream about you last night, crying in the window covered in blood. I couldn’t stand to keep silent any longer.”

Narcissa shuddered, wondering what would have happened if Andromeda hadn’t helped her have the confidence to form an exit plan. Pulling away, she wiped her face with a handkerchief from her sleeve. “I can’t believe you named your daughter _Nymphadora!_ ” Narcissa laughed wetly, resting a hand on her stomach unconsciously.

“Oh, you know I had to get back at the bastards somehow. And what will you be naming your second?”

“Not something that will also punish my daughter in the process of sticking it to dead people.”

“Well, they weren’t dead at the time!” Andy protested, and it was only seconds before they were both cracking up, barely holding each other up.

After several minutes, Narcissa was able to compose herself. She straightened with a final dainty sniff, conjuring a handkerchief for herself. “So, would you like to know the plan?”

Andromeda’s grin was quite bloodthirsty. “You know I would, sister.”

So, she laid it out. They would each Imperius one of their captives, then force them to ‘fight’ each other to the death. It would be like controlling a puppet show, and their audience was the Aurors they would have to call and convince afterward. Peter’s presence would helpfully cast doubt on the entire case surrounding Lucius’ murder.

“You’ll let me handle calling the Aurors,” Andromeda insisted. “I know who to ask for. It was an Auror who told me Sirius hadn’t been given a trial.” Beside that, there were several who had also been members of the Order. Andromeda might not have trusted Dumbledore further than she could banish him, but she knew he excelled at surrounding himself with good people so that he looked good by reflection.

Narcissa couldn’t find fault with the suggestion. “I have no issue with that. Shall we finish this now?” Weariness was gathering in her bones, and suddenly she just wanted to close this chapter of her life. Sighing heavily, she pointed her wand at her husband, watching her sister do the same out of the corner of her eye. Then, they got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not send me nasty comments. Do not presume to tell me how to write my story.
> 
> If you've ever read a fic over at Keira Marcos' site, you know how to play by her comment rules.
> 
> Your nonconsensual beta is unwanted, unneeded, and detested.


	3. define poetic justice, can i keep old grudges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa was born to be an actress.
> 
> Shacklebolt was born to be an ass.
> 
> Amelia... She's just trying not to commit another murder in Lucius' study.

Narcissa had little trouble playing the overwrought wife once the Aurors began spitting out of the Floo. All she had to think about was the last time Lucius had hit her and she was tearing up and cowering just like they expected. Her sister had managed to secure Amelia Bones and Kingsley Shacklebolt’s presence, to her surprise. The Shacklebolts had a seat in the Magistrates’ Cabinet and Amelia presumably held the Regency for the Bones title until her niece married and produced an Heir. The war had decimated many Ancient and/or Noble houses, to the point where daughters outnumbered sons. It would require each daughter have two sons if they hoped to keep their matrilineal covenant alive — Narcissa didn’t even know if magical Britain could handle the losses of another war, or if it would cause their extinction. She knew the Dark Lord was still out there, biding his time. She wouldn’t let him become a threat to her son.

“— Madame Malfoy, did you hear me?” A deep baritone voice penetrated her thoughts, and Narcissa shook herself out of contemplation, mostly for show.

“I’m terribly sorry, did you ask a question?” She didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, her gaze darting from wall to floor to the ceiling, where she hoped Draco was sleeping soundly. “I’m just… worried my son will wake up in the midst of all this.”

Andromeda rubbed her arm soothingly, then offered, “I can go check on him, Cissy. You know Nymphadora used to have nightmares; I’m a dab hand with a sleeping charm.” Narcissa made eye contact with Madam Bones, arching an eyebrow in question. The Auror nodded once. Andromeda didn’t need any more permission than that to leave.

“As far as we can tell, Madame Malfoy, these two had their fatal argument about 6 hours ago. You say you didn’t notice your husband missing before then? Or even hear anything?” Shacklebolt’s forehead furrowed together dubiously.

She looked at the floor as though ashamed. Truth be told, she _was_ ashamed. It had been drilled into her that her husband’s secrets mattered more than her own — but he was dead now, and she didn’t have to keep up appearances that way. Taking in a deep breath, she lifted the glamour on her neck, showing handprint bruises that were obviously masculine. “I did my very best to avoid my husband for as long as possible during the day, Auror Shacklebolt. The only reason I came looking for him at all is because…” She faltered, wondering if this would push them over the skeptic’s line into belief or non-belief. _In for a sickle, in for a galleon_. “He had informed me this morning that I was to make myself… available to him… after our son was in bed. He didn’t come, for hours, and…” She blew out a breath of air. Telling the truth, even a version of it, was hard. Good pureblood girls didn’t air dirty laundry like this. “He liked to play games where he set me up to fail without telling me. So I began to worry he had… wanted my company… somewhere else and had expected me to find him.”

Head Auror Bones kept her face fairly impassive, though her lips were pursed tightly. Auror Shacklebolt wasn’t as good at hiding his anger. Amelia asked, “Would you like me to heal that?”

Narcissa pulled back, an immediate, conditioned denial on her lips. She’d learned her lesson about healing herself without permission. But then her eyes caught upon his sheet covered body, and she relaxed. Even knowing she’d been responsible for his death didn’t remove all the triggers he’d beaten into her. “I — Yes, please, Madam. He — He liked to see them, so I —”

“I understand,” she said quietly, directing a stream of cool magic to wrap around Narcissa’s throat. She didn’t even register how badly it had hurt until the pain was soothed away.

Shacklebolt, showing all the awareness of a teaspoon, had the gall to ask, “And why didn’t you report him for all of this?”

Narcissa stared at the man mutely, while Amelia’s head whipped around, surely to glare at him since he seemed to shrink in on himself. She answered for Narcissa, in fact. “Where would she have gone, Kings? Her Paterfamilias is in prison and her marriage vows were probably quite strict.” Not strict enough to prevent his cold-blooded murder, but Narcissa happily kept that to herself. “Even if she had left him and gone to her sister, do you think she’d have been able to take the man’s Heir with her? No mother willingly abandons her children.”

Bowing his head, the Auror accepted the chastisement. “My apologies, Madame Malfoy.” He didn’t stop, though. “I just find myself wondering what role you played in all of this. You had a reason to want him dead.” Madam Bones hissed through her teeth but couldn’t fault his logic.

“Six hours ago,” Narcissa snapped, “I was healing my son’s broken arms. He was dropped from a height taller than Lucius. I stayed with him until his bedtime, comforting him. Doing my best to convince him his father isn’t a monster, he is just a strict teacher. Do you have any idea what it’s like to tell your son he has to accept being abused as a life lesson? Do you even have children?” She turned her face to the wall, sure her profile was quite stark as befit her mood. “We both lived in fear of our jailer, but we knew we couldn’t lash out. I did my best to take Draco’s punishments when I could, but Lucius wouldn’t allow me to interfere most times.” She turned back to Shacklebolt, eyes quite cold. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to endanger my son by getting myself sent to Azkaban for murdering his father? Or do you simply seek a reason to blame me for being married off to a Malfoy by my own father?”

Bones stepped in before his stunned silence could give way to something else. Narcissa, finding herself struggling to draw breath while her heart tried to pound out of her chest, draped herself across the nearest lounge that wasn’t covered in blood. “Shacklebolt, why don’t you go see what the others have discovered so far? I’ll finish this interview.”

Amelia had no more had time to kneel at Narcissa’s side before a shout of consternation went up from over by the fireplace. She clasped one hand to Narcissa’s knee reassuringly before standing. “I’ll be right back.”

“Shacklebolt, you are embarrasing the hell out of yourself tonight,” she berated him in a hiss. “What the hell is going on?” Rather than speaking, he simply lifted the sheet over the second corpse. “Merlin’s pants, that’s Peter Pettigrew!”

Shacklebolt leaned in until his lips almost touched her ear, murmuring, “How many of the Aurors here do you trust not to be in anyone else’s pocket? I _told_ you Sirius’ imprisonment stunk to high heaven, and here’s the proof we need.” After all, the man had supposedly murdered their current murder victim — not that Kingsley had believed any of that tripe even when it was being splashed on the Prophet every day for a week. Sirius would’ve cut out his own heart first.

Amelia’s eyes were wide as she turned her head to meet his hard gaze. “Just you and me, Kings. I know you were… Close with Sirius.” The man nodded, not bothering to deny that they’d had a bit of an affair during the Auror Academy. They’d stayed good friends after the enforced isolation of the Academy had been lifted and they’d been allowed to socialize with others again; it had been quite fun. Kingsley had to be _sedated_ to avoid core upheaval when he was told Sirius Black was responsible for the death of the Potters. As a result, he hadn’t been there when they’d captured the man. “Let’s go ask Madame Malfoy some more questions — but you let _me_ do the talking, understand? I’m still right pissed at you, but this is bigger than interview conduct.”

They both crossed the room to where Narcissa was sitting. Andromeda had returned and had her hand braced supportively around Narcissa’s shoulders; her little sister’s face was buried in her robes, so no one else could see her loss of composure. “I was only gone for ten minutes,” the oldest Black daughter condemned with a dirty look at Shacklebolt. “My sister is overwrought; I don’t appreciate her being treated so callously when her husband has just been murdered in their home.”

“I understand, Mrs. Tonks.” Amelia tried to smooth the ruffled feathers, but she didn’t know how successful she was. “We only have a few more questions, and they’re all about the intruder.”

The regal woman tilted her head back in acceptance. “Very well. Tread lightly. You wouldn’t want me to Floo my husband — he’s a barrister who’d be quite happy to sue the MoM if need be.” Luckily, being disowned hadn’t robbed Andy of her ability to look down at the world. It was something Ted laughed about, her ability to stop people in their tracks with a glance.

Madam Bones nodded her head deferentially; the House of Bones didn’t have as much power as the House of Black, and with this new proof of their Paterfamilias’ innocence… Well, she and her own Lord would be best served by staying in the sisters’ good graces. “I was just curious — did you recognize the man, before you called us, Madame Malfoy?”

Narcissa turned back around on the lounge to face the Aurors, her sister’s supportive hands never leaving her shoulders. “I — I recognized him by description only. Lucius has known Pettigrew was alive since a week after he was declared dead; I don’t know how often he’s visited the Manor and I don’t know why they would be fighting now. Lucius… He likes - liked - his secrets. Liked the power that came with them.”

Shacklebolt couldn’t seem to help himself, but at least his tone was marginally respectful when he asked, “Why didn’t you notify the DMLE that your Paterfamilias’ supposed murder victim was wandering freely?”

Narcissa’s nostrils flared as Andy’s hands tightened their hold. “That’s completely inflammatory —”

“It’s alright, Andy.” Narcissa lifted a smooth, pale hand to pat her sister’s. “Auror Shacklebolt seems quite uneducated about how magical marriages work within the peerage.” She snubbed the man completely, looking only at Auror Bones. “I was brought into the Malfoy magic and household as chattel, Madam. A fact which I’m sure you’re aware of. I couldn’t betray any of his secrets that I learned, even if he hadn’t been watching my incoming and outgoing mail.”

Amelia nodded, then stepped on Kingsley’s foot hard as he opened his mouth again. “There are several discrepancies arising with your Paterfamilias’ trial; the presence of Pettigrew’s body is just one.”

Andromeda couldn’t contain a barking laugh; both Aurors were struck by how much she looked and sounded like Sirius in the moment. “Trial? What trial? Our Paterfamilias has languished in Azkaban for six years at the whim of Crouch, Sr. and Bagnold! Ted tried to look into it and was followed for two weeks; I had to ask him to let it go because I feared for our daughter’s safety.” And hadn’t that been a kick in the teeth, having to choose between her cousin and her husband.

“I see.” Amelia was quiet, thoughtful. “We’ll have to maneuver around this carefully. I —” She leveled a speculative look at the two sisters, who were proving to be a united front despite the rumors that they hadn’t spoken since Andromeda’s marriage. “You’ll be taking Regency of the Earldom of Wiltshire until your son is fifteen, won’t you?”

Narcissa played at acting surprised, as though she hadn’t considered the fact yet. “Well, I’ll have to, won’t I? Or else one of Lucius’ cousins from France could come and take my son from me…” No one present doubted how vehemently Narcissa was opposed to that idea; her expression was quite transparent.

Andromeda picked up where Madam Bones was going with her question. “You’re going to bury the fact that it was Pettigrew who murdered Lucius until the spring session, when Narcissa can claim grievance against the Ministry.” Amelia wasn’t surprised by how shrewd the woman was; they’d gone to school together, after all, and she hadn’t dismissed Andromeda’s House placement even if everyone else had when she married a Muggleborn. “It’s clever. She’s doubly owed because if they’d done their jobs with regards to her Paterfamilias, her husband wouldn’t be dead.”

Kingsley wanted to protest the subterfuge, but his common sense told him they would need to bring their biggest wands to this fight. After all, if the three people Andromeda had named were truly bent on keeping Sirius in prison, the only way to move around them would be by conjuring a wall in their faces. He shared a long look with Amelia; when she cocked her head at the rest of the room, he knew it was his job to suppress the other Field Aurors’ memories of this night — not permanently, just until their knowledge wouldn’t paint a target on their backs. With a sigh, he broke off from the group and went to take care of his morally ambiguous duty. Was it better to hide their memories and save their lives? Yes, especially since they could also get Sirius and Amelia killed if everything went tits up. Was it still a thin walk across a moral line he’d always thought would be much harder to cross? Also yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not send me nasty comments. Do not presume to tell me how to write my story. 
> 
> If you've ever read a fic over at Keira Marcos' site, you know how to play by her comment rules.
> 
> Your nonconsensual beta is unwanted, unneeded, and detested.


	4. twist the knife (carefully, quietly)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa becomes a Peer in her own right.
> 
> Dumbledore has a bad day.
> 
> Surprises abound for all involved.

“We call to order the administrative spring session of the Wizengamot in this year of 1988! Thank you for your presence, Lord and Ladies, all. The general assembly may be seated.” With a broad wave of his wand and an extra twinkle of his eye, Albus Dumbledore shut the large doors of the chamber. The Head Auror moved to stand in front of them, her wand out and laid flat against her chest in the ready position. No one here knew it, but she’d moved Sirius Black to a Ministry holding cell three days before this session, and had spent all weekend trading off guard duty with Kingsley and pouring potions down the Lord Apparent of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black’s throat. He wasn’t in as bad of shape as she’d been expecting - perhaps due to the fact that he’d been a thin, mangy dog when she’d snuck into his cell at the witching hour - but he needed to be able to stand and walk under his own power, as well as be fit to take Veritaserum.

Clearing his throat, Dumbledore had to look down at a parchment to ensure he had gotten all of Narcissa’s titles right. Lucius had, apparently, had her in his will for one of the smaller lands. She’d been more surprised than anyone; she hadn’t thought him capable of assuming he’d die before her. Then again, she’d always assumed he’d be the death of her, not the other way around. Knowing better than to trust her dead husband, Narcissa resolved to have someone reputable inspect the holding as soon as possible for illegal activity. “Our first order of business is the Acknowledgment of Ascension for the Earldom of Wiltshire as it pertains to the Right Honorable Dowager Countess of Linnan, as the Aurors have concluded that she was not a party in her husband and Lord’s death. Madame Malfoy, the floor is yours.” Dumbledore sat with a sweep of his gaudy robes.

Narcissa stood from the Malfoy box, aware that the seal had fallen dark upon Lucius’ death and that it would not light again until Draco entered it wearing the Lord’s signet ring. Murmurs swept around the room as she lifted Draco up to perch on the box’s rim so that he could look upon the gathered crowd. Her sister stood quietly behind him.

Andromeda had chosen to wear a safe and staid black robe. Narcissa had dressed herself and Draco with a bit more care for the occasion and had, in her opinion, struck the exact chord necessary to remind every Peer in the chamber what her station, and by contrast theirs, was. Her hair was pinned up in the customary braids of a recently-widowed matriarch, and she’d chosen not to forsake the traditional black hat/veil combo of the older generation, knowing it would earn her points with people who thought she was too young for her position. Her outer robe was the respectable charcoal grey of second-stage mourning, but the flashes of the gown underneath were Dowager green. The all around impression sent by her attire was that she knew exactly what her societal status was and what respect was owed to her because of it.

“My name is Narcissa Malfoy, née Black, and I claim Right of Regency over the Earldom of Wiltshire until such a time as my son is able to sit for this esteemed body himself. In the names of Lady Nehalennia and Lord Awen, I vow to always act in the interest of the Earl of Wiltshire and his attendant concerns. So mote it be.”

Several people responded to her call with, "so mote it be," which told her that there were still a few worshipers of the old ways. She hoped to modernize the practice of sacred rituals within the next generation of young children she would undoubtedly host at the Estate.

The Chief Warlock, presuming she was done, bowed his head only slightly to her and spoke. She took note of his lack of blessing with narrowed eyes. “The Wizengamot recognizes the Ascension of the Right Honorable Dowager Countess, Regent Narcissa Malfoy. Up next —” She did not sit down as expected, and she thoroughly enjoyed several members’ faces as she barreled over him to continue.

“The Houses of Malfoy and Black would take this opportunity to cry _Perfidy Most Foule_ against the British Minister for Magic and the Head of the Department of International Cooperation. They have both, through their direct and indirect actions, caused the death of the Earl of Wiltshire and the false imprisonment of my maternal Paterfamilias, Lord Apparent to the Duchy of Blackridge Moor, Sirius Orion Black. I contend that Millicent Bagnold and Bartemius Crouch, Senior have committed treason against a Peer of the Realm through their callous negligence of procedure. I vow on my magic that they were responsible for Sirius Black being sentenced to life in Azkaban without a trial; so mote it be. Will you allow such an affront to the Peerage of Magical Britain to stand?”

The whole body was momentarily as silent as a grave, until it exploded into a raucous mess. Narcissa watched as Andromeda pulled Draco back into the safety of the box, just in case someone drew their wand on her in the cacophony. Dumbledore spent ten minutes banging his gavel and demanding order before resorting to a _Percussio_ cast at the round ceiling. When that still only halved the noise, he was forced to cast an Amplification Charm on himself. _**“WE WILL HAVE ORDER!”**_ Most of the members subsided into mutters, and the Chief Warlock turned to her with such an innocent face of shock that she was momentarily struck with the urge to hurt him as fiercely as he’d hurt her family. Even with the veil, she made certain that her face showed none of her rage.

“Now, Madame Malfoy, these are grievous charges to lay at the feet of two decorated Ministry employees. What proof have you to present to the body?”

At that point, Narcissa glanced at Amelia, then followed the Auror’s gaze across the floor to the — _occupied_ Bones seat. She had never been allowed in session with Lucius, although some Peers allowed their wives, and so she had been ignorant as to the existence _of_ the current Earl of Cnámh. Her deceased husband had crowed about slaughtering the Heir Apparent, Edgar - before he could claim the title - and exterminating every branch of the Bones family save a ‘worthless girl child’. As far as the public knew, Edgar and Amelia had been the only Bones children. the only Scions. However, never let it be said that she couldn’t adapt to new information. She would simply have to find out later who he was. “I believe the Earl of Cnámh has the fully certified Auror report from the night of my husband’s murder at his disposal.” It was unfortunate that she couldn’t imply a more familiar relationship, but since she had only just discovered his existence, she didn’t fault herself. Just mourned the missed opportunity for another power play. However, if she overplayed her hand some of these fools would catch on and become suspicious. Better, then, to only refer to him by holding.

“Its contents name Peter Pettigrew as my husband’s murderer — which, you see, could only mean that my Paterfamilias, Sirius Black, did _not_ kill Pettigrew or those twelve Muggles.” A strong undercurrent of shock rippled around the other members of the House of Lords, but they kept their peace after being glared at by the Chief Warlock. “Upon being told the identity of my husband’s murderer, I began to wonder how it was possible for Lord Apparent Black to have been charged and sentenced with his death — imagine my surprise to find, after funding a discreet investigation done by a third party, that a Peer of the Realm, a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, was stripped of his wand by the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and thrown directly into Azkaban in the days following the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named under the orders of Millicent Bagnold. He has been left to rot for the last six years at the leisure of this body, awaiting a trial he must surely have given up hope of by this point.” Narcissa was very good at twisting the knife of guilt to get reactions, and she loved getting what she wanted. She looked down at her son; warmth filled her chest and she resisted the urge to put her hand over her stomach as her daughter moved happily as well.

A copy of the evidence landed on the table next to their seats, but she didn’t bother to look at it. Instead, she surveilled the other Peers’ and Magistrates’ expression as they leafed through the records that verified Peter Pettigrew’s identity, the report of the month-long investigation done into her life and financials to ensure she hadn’t planned and paid for a murder-suicide. And what a ridiculous theory and waste of time that had been — Narcissa was beginning to think Magistrate Shacklebolt didn’t like her. It didn’t surprise her, especially as she suspected he was a member of a certain organization. One thing about the whole spectacle had, however, amused her: he had never posited that it was a spontaneous cover-up staged afterward. Perhaps he didn’t consider her clever or dangerous enough to have retrieved Pettigrew for the task. Or maybe he thought her too clever to lose her temper; either way, his suspicion had only strengthened her cover. He’d sent a team to interview the Weasleys about their pet ‘rat.’ He’d gone to Azkaban in the dead of night to sneak Sirius out, so she supposed he had some sense of loyalty. Perhaps his disdain for her was a holdover from Hogwarts prejudices.

Several Ministers looked shocked, several were outraged and working their way to apoplectic. Some sat quietly, barely skimming the reports; she wondered if they were in Dumbledore’s pocket or if they weren’t close enough to the nobility to care as much. Perhaps it was a mixture. They would soon learn, however, that crying Perfidy Most Foule against two high ranking members of the Ministry could - and would, if she feathered her cap properly - have a startling effect on the amount of power the Wizengamot allowed the administrative branch of the British magical government to exercise.

After twenty minutes one could have heard a pin drop in the chamber. It seemed most of them had gotten to the truly stunning part: Sirius was Harry Potter’s sworn godfather. The fact that he wasn’t dead was enough proof by itself that he hadn’t betrayed the Potters’ Secret. If that wasn’t enough, though, Narcissa had ensured one final cherry adorned this spectacle sundae: Sirius had also been the Potters’ bonded third, and their loss in his magical core had temporarily tipped him into the legendary Black madness. That, therefore, explained why he had been laughing while discussing the deaths of his partners, and why he had been so combative with the Aurors who attempted to subdue one of their own calmly.

The package was neatly wrapped up. She’d led them by the nose through the facts. Now, she would just have to wait for three, two —

The room exploded as seven Peers leapt to their feet, each shouting almost the exact same thing.

“I move to bring Black here, to account the truth of it under Veritaserum!” The lack of respect rankled Narcissa’s nerves a bit, but she allowed it to pass because Viscount Prewett was eighty if he was a day.

“I move for the immediate trial of Master Sirius Orion Black!” Well that was a bit more like it, but then again the Selwyns had always been sticklers for propriety. The Barons of Rutland knew that order was better than chaos, even if occasionally order was only _barely_ tamed chaos. She liked that about them — everything in its place, and a plan for every action. Perhaps they had a son that was close in age to her anticipated daughter; she wouldn’t be averse to diverting into some of the outer Houses.

The rest were all a variation on the theme. Narcissa was much more interested in watching Dumbledore’s twinkle dim as he tried not to turn purple from sheer impotent fury. The thing about the Headmaster, she thought, was that he thought Slytherins were dirty. He refused to associate with them or keep people around him who didn’t feel similarly about them. Whereas a Slytherin, knowing it was best to have in-depth knowledge of the enemy, made a point of seeking out rumors and facts about the people they hated most. It was unfortunate for the old man that he’d drawn the attention of the Black sisters; he had no idea what sort of political games they had learned to play as young children and as students — or how they might have honed their craft as adults. She almost felt bad for him — oh wait, no she didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not send me nasty comments. Do not presume to tell me how to write my story.
> 
> If you've ever read a fic over at Keira Marcos' site, you know how to play by her comment rules.
> 
> Your nonconsensual beta is unwanted, unneeded, and detested.


	5. this mutiny, it would be new to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius goes free.
> 
> Narcissa flirts.
> 
> Goblins prepare.

All told, Sirius’ trial was over fairly quickly. The Wizengamot had voted to have Sirius’ trial after a recess for lunch after Amelia had stepped forward and said that he was already in the building and (mostly) fit for trial. Sirius managed to keep his wits about him under Veritaserum, though his answers were occasionally more rambling than people under the influence of Veritaserum were usually capable of. It was, luckily, ignored by the body at large. Narcissa assumed it was because of some of the information they had gotten out of him that they had not been remotely prepared for.

Namely, the fact that there was a prophecy. About Harry Potter and the _bloody_ Dark Lord. If her preliminary interpretation was even remotely correct, Harry Potter would be forced to face that bastard as many times as it took for one of them (probably the young boy who didn’t have almost a century of Dark magic training) to die. She was quite incensed, especially after the messenger who’d been dispatched to confirm the existence of the Prophet Orb with the Unspeakables had come back and informed the Wizengamot and assembled citizens that the prophecy was still unfulfilled.

After that, they had more important things to argue about than Sirius’ innocence. So they’d let him go with hardly a moment’s hesitation in the voting. Only the Prewett Paterfamilias had voted no, but she was fairly certain that was because of her, not Sirius.

Sirius’ face when the cuffs were released and both she and Andromeda had to restrain Draco from happily jumping on the man was a memory she would cherish forever. “Mr. Black, you’re the best! I’m so happy you’re free! Are you coming home with us? I think you should — it’s a really big house, you won’t be any trouble.” Draco peered up at the newly released man with starstruck eyes; Sirius paused for a moment, seeming to struggle with how to respond. Neither Andromeda nor Narcissa intervened. After all, he would have to get used to Draco’s exuberance at some point.

Eventually, Sirius grinned like the old Siri they’d known, and reached out as though to ruffle Draco’s hair. He caught sight of the dirt still crusted around his nails - despite Amelia’s best efforts to clean him - and seemed to snap back to the present, eying Narcissa and Andromeda both warily and apologetically. Like a beaten dog. Suddenly, Narcissa realized he had thought _they_ didn’t want him sullying the boy. She held eye contact and pushed Draco forward a bit with a soft tip of her lips. “Draco, your cousin looks like he could use a hug.”

Draco looked up at his mother with a bright grin before rushing forward to wrap his small arms around Sirius’ waist. The man was fully present in the moment, happy to lean down and hug his cousin close, grateful for the soft contact. He wondered how tall Harry was right now.

Thinking about Harry made him hunch his shoulders, clutching Draco tighter and bowing his head as he started to silently cry. He noticed nothing, refusing to look up lest they see his weakness; as such, he didn’t see Amelia Bones come out of the session with his wand.

Narcissa, ever perceptive, intercepted the witch with a grateful smile. “If the Wizengamot requires any other information, Andromeda may be contacted to handle the matters for the Duchy of Blackridge Moor until such time as the goblins at Gringotts pronounce Lord Apparent of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Sirius Orion, to have regained his health.” She held out her hand, then tucked Sirius’ wand up her sleeve. Andromeda moved behind her to start to usher Draco and Sirius down the corridor to the lifts. Leaning in, she murmured, “You may owl me if you wish, Amelia.” _Hopefully that was nonchalant enough._ “I find myself in need of more sensible companionship than my family had previously allowed.”

Amelia inclined her head, a spark of curiosity in her gaze. “I might take you up on that. Narcissa.” The pause was quite deliberate; the corner of Amelia’s mouth tipped up slightly, and Narcissa knew she had her attention.

She bowed out of the conversation with a slight bob of a curtsy. She didn’t speak with Andromeda, but she noticed Sirius had managed to calm himself, and that Draco was clinging to his hand. “Well, our next stop is obviously the bank.” She waved her hands in a ‘well, get on with it’ motion and then pulled the grate shut behind them while Andromeda pushed the button for the Atrium.

The crowd didn’t surprise her. The runner, a very young clerk, was almost guaranteed to have stopped and gossiped on their way to the Department of Mysteries. The crowd’s silence, however, was unsettling. It hung suspended for a moment, and then almost as one, a path opened up for them to walk down. Draco’s head swiveled left and right with a small amount of anxiety. Narcissa and Andromeda moved to flank Sirius and Draco on either side, gazing through the crowd regally and making contact with no one. As they walked, a hum slowly jumped from one person to another as they caught sight of Sirius’ emaciated face. Narcissa had heard of the _Murare_ before, but there hadn’t been one performed in several centuries.

The last _Murare_ had resulted in the Magistrates’ Cabinet of the Wizengamot being formed because the citizens had felt that the Sacred Twenty-Eight did not represent their interests. She didn’t know what exactly they had initiated the _Murare_ , but her first thought was that it was gratitude for the years without the Dark Lord, and her second that it was anger at how the Potters’ triad partner and child had been treated by the system.

After they stepped through the Floo and had dusted themselves off, Andromeda asked Narcissa, “What are the chances Bagnold and Crouch are sacked before the end of day?”

Narcissa smirked and put her hands over Draco’s ears. Sirius seemed to have lost most of his energy and was drooping. “I wouldn’t be surprised to learn they’d been strung up by their toes in the Atrium.” She removed her hands and looped her arm through Sirius’ supportively, moving the group forward to a teller who was already moving quickly to the back offices before they’d even introduced themselves or presented a key. Narcissa had never seen a goblin move like a fire had lit under their arse before. Today had been… quite a few firsts. Suddenly she felt as exhausted as Sirius. Keeping up a stoic, confident front when she’d been nervous, unsettled, and slightly nauseated was hard on the pregnant witch. Draco seemed to have picked up on the serious mood; he stood very still and quiet — gripping Sirius’ other hand tightly. After several moments, she realized why her skin felt like it was crawling.

There wasn’t another soul to be found in the bank.

A tall, wide-set goblin exited the door which led to the private offices, waving them forward with a sharp grimace. Or smile. She would hesitate to ascribe any specific emotion to a goblin’s expression, because they had such great control of the muscles in their bodies that every new position conveyed a different tone and emotion. To a wixen not trained or raised by goblins, it would be nigh impossible for her to decode.

“May your vaults overflow to your partner’s pockets.” Andromeda clasped her hands in front of her elegantly and greeted the being in their custom, as she was the only adult who had any energy left to be polite with. “And may your enemies’ blood renew your lands.”

Andromeda actually managed to perceive a slight shift in expression, though she was not any more able to decipher it than her sister.

“So mote it be.” The traditional blessing had even more gravitas and power with a goblin’s guttural intonation; it was their version of an accent, since Gobbledygook was their first language. “May your endeavors succeed at the expense of _your_ enemies.”

Andromeda curtsied shallowly, then led the ragtag group of wixen down the corridor as the goblin bowed them through the door.

The only open office door was at the very end, and the desk looked almost like a throne. Andromeda and Narcissa both straightened and did their best to remember every scrap of goblin courtesy rituals they’d ever known. Draco was likely only silent because he was awed, truth be told. There was a _huge_ battle axe on the wall behind the regal Imperator.

“Sit,” they invited with an inviting wave.

Taking a deep breath, Narcissa made certain to keep her spine straight as she settled in. “You honor us with your presence, Excellency. May your coffers spark envy in nifflers and your bloodlust startle a vampire.” Mentioning other magical creatures and beings would show they truly respected other sentient races — no one knew if nifflers were wholly sentient, but they _were_ blasted clever by any measure, and sassy to boot.

The goblin Imperator looked from person to person, staring deeply at each in complete silence. Luckily, before Narcissa could start to perspire (how unseemly), Their Excellency actually let out a small laugh. “I can see this will be fun,” they said almost to themself.

They pressed a button on their desk and soon an older, much craggier goblin was in the doorway. “Ah, yes, I see what’s to be done.”

The Imperator clicked their tongue against their teeth, but the new goblin dismissed the rebuke with a wave. “Bah, don’t scold me, Ragnok. I’ll make sure this one’s well taken care of.” They stepped forward and helped Sirius stand with ease, despite their apparent age.

Narcissa did her best not to look worried, but Draco had no such self-control, and for the first time in the bank words burst out of him. “No, please don’t take him!” He latched on to Sirius’ free hand daringly, looking at the Healer with mutiny in his eyes.

“Draco,” she tried to rein him in, but he ignored her stubbornly. _Just like his father in that regard._ Fortunately, the years would hopefully temper Draco’s impetuousness.

“No, Mummy!” He must be truly upset to be calling her that in public. He seemed quite worried about what would happen to Sirius — he hadn’t taken this quickly to anyone else she’d ever introduced him to. In fact, he had made the Parkinson daughter run screaming during their first co-ed tea party on the gardens, just by showing her a garden snake. Narcissa couldn’t abide a ninny, and she’d put her foot down about Lucius attempting to match Draco with anyone until he was at least fifteen.

Sirius roused a bit, looking down fondly and wrapping his arm around the small boy’s shoulders. “Why don’t you come with me, hmm, kit? Make sure the Healers take real good care of me.”

Narcissa’s heart swelled as she watched her little boy nod and bravely declare, “I’ll keep watch if you need to sleep too. I had to sleep after Mother healed my arms, and she watched over me all night.”

The additional person made no difference to the Healer, whose shoulders rippled in a shrug before they led the two most important men in her life out the door and deeper into the bowels of the bank. Sirius would be safe. He had to be — not that she thought the goblins were a danger to any of them, but rather she worried about toll taken by the years in Azkaban.

“Now, for the real matter I wished to speak with you about.” The Imperator casually flicked a finger and the door jumped shut with the visible spark of punitive wards being activated.

Andromeda shared a glance with Narcissa, then they both squared their shoulders. “How may the Duchy of Blackridge Moor be of service to the Goblin Horde, Your Excellency?” Swallowing around the sudden lump in her throat was difficult.

“It is more, what the Horde would like to do for the House of Black — and Potter.” The Imperator rested their elbows on their desk, assessing the both of them over steepled fingers that rubbed their top lip in contemplation. “I, and by extension the Horde, am prepared to go to war with you.”

A frisson of renewed energy ran through both Black sisters. Narcissa leaned forward, a cruel smile slashed across her face. “Excellency, I have a _list_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not send me nasty comments. Do not presume to tell me how to write my story.
> 
> If you've ever read a fic over at Keira Marcos' site, you know how to play by her comment rules.
> 
> Your nonconsensual beta is unwanted, unneeded, and detested.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you'd like to check out my other work in a new, tiny fandom, consider watching the source material Let's Play on [the Forgotton Anne Fandom Hub YouTube,](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UClZruL6QFoz-W92P54sXWzg) then go check out [my fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundforgotling) if you love it as much as I do!
> 
> You can also find me [on Tumblr.](jasperyllis.tumblr.com)


End file.
